Aftermath 2
by Obi the Kid
Summary: After a second peep at Hell, Sam struggles to just stay awake. Takes place in Season 6 at any point after "Unforgiven."


**TITLE:** Aftermath

**AUTHOR:** Obi the Kid

**SUMMARY:** After a second peep at Hell, Sam struggles to just stay awake. Takes place in Season 6 at any point after "Unforgiven."

**RATING:** PG

**DISCLAIMER**: The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story.

* * *

"How's he doing?"

"Still out cold. Back seat."

"Back seat of what?"

"The Impala. I had to move us, Bobby. This is the second town in the last month that we stumbled on where evidently Sam and Samuel have spun their magic. And like before, the cops in that town aren't Sam's biggest fans. I had to _drag_ his Sasquatch self to the car. _Little_ brother, my ass."

"You sure he had another flashback to Hell?"

"Pretty damn sure. One minute he was talking, then his face went blank – like he was on another planet or something, and the next minute he was flopping around on his backside on the floor just like before. All tensed up, starring at nothing. Only this time he was out for ten minutes before snapping out of it. Then this hours-long deep sleep thing and he's not showing any signs of coming around."

"Stress on the body can do strange things, Dean. Stress on the mind can do stranger. Just let him sleep it off."

"I guess that's the only thing I can do. I'll call ya later, Bobby. Thanks."

Stopped at a busy intersection, Dean took a glance back to check on his brother. Sam's lumbering form was resting easily – despite being crammed into a seat that was too small for his large frame. For now he was relaxed. No sign of flashbacks, nightmares or even tension. The older Winchester breathed out a relieved sigh, though still worried about the length of time Sam had been out - going on four hours. It was midday and they were still driving. Dean had no destination in mind, just a mission to get as far away from that town as possible.

He took a brief respite for lunch, sacking a hamburger away for Sam for later, then drove south.

Sometime after 2pm, Dean heard movement behind him. He pulled the car into a shopping center, parking towards the rear of the lot to avoid any unneeded spectators. Leaning over the Impala's front bench seat, Dean watched hopefully for a few minutes, wanting to wake his brother, but heeding Bobby's advice that sleep was probably what Sam's body craved most after the recent physical and emotional roller coaster. Eventually, he slumped back down behind the steering wheel. Then a groan and cough set him leaning towards the back again.

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyes opened slowly. They took in the immediate surroundings as he cleared his vision and tried to clear his head. His long legs were bent as he lay horizontal in the Impala's rear seat.

Seeing him coming around, Dean became persistent. "Sam, can you hear me? Wake up."

"Dean?" Sam asked as he squinted up towards his brother.

"Right here, man. You okay?"

A grunt of pain and Sam rubbed at the back of his head. "Head hurts."

"You whacked it pretty hard when you fell back at the motel."

"Yeah. No, not that," Sam swallowed hard as he disagreed. This felt different than just a smack on the head. Then he remembered. "The wall cracked again, didn't it?"

"Maybe so. I won't ask you to remember it, even if you can. No need to beat the crack with a hammer. If we leave it alone, it might patch itself."

Sam very carefully sat up and eyed his brother. "Dean, I'm not a construction project."

Ignoring the comment, Dean tossed the extra hamburger over the seat. Sam's response time was sluggish, which Dean noted immediately. The burger landed next to him.

Sam recognized the test that came in the form of tossed food.

"Measuring response time, huh? You can't give me a couple minutes of vertical before you start testing me?"

"Nope. In our job, Sam, there's no time for a sluggish wake up. Especially not knowing exactly where else you and Samuel visited during your time as the Terminator. Could have been this place for all we know. Eat your burger."

The Impala's engine grumbled to life.

Carefully, Sam edged his way from back seat to front then sat quietly - too quietly for Dean.

"You okay?" When there was no response after another silent minute, Dean shut the car down. "Sam?"

Sam had taken one bite of the burger and then set his hands in his lap – losing himself in uneven deep breaths, his eyes fixed on nothing. His brother's concerned calling of his name eventually brought his mind back to his surroundings and one word came out.

"Fire."

"What?"

More words – memories - followed.

"Fire. I was burning alive. I could feel it. Like the first time, but worse."

"Sam, let's not talk about this, all right? It could push you further into places that neither of us want you to go."

Turning to look at his brother, Sam's eyes were filled with watery pain as he rubbed at his forehead. "Dean, my head really hurts."

Then, as Dean was about to suggest that he lay back down Sam began rocking himself and squeezing his head between his hands. A flashback to several years ago hit the older brother as Dean recalled when Sam first started having his 'visions' – the intense pain that came with it. This was different of course – a different cause – the pain though was likely very similar.

And in this case, longer lasting.

Dean hurled himself out of the car and around to the passenger side, grabbing Sam as he fell sideways out the door. A quick look around revealed no nosey bystanders and Dean knelt to lean Sam back onto his lap.

"Easy, Sam. Focus, okay? And breathe damn it."

The soft pleading return cry of 'Dean' was both terrifying and heartbreaking and the ten minutes that Sam was on the ground in agony were ten of the longest minutes of Dean's life. He kept talking to his brother, squeezing his hand, patting his face, but it took the pain a long time to subside. And when it finally did, Sam lay panting heavily on the asphalt, his head resting on his brother's thigh so it didn't pound the pavement as he rolled in distress.

Then, just as quickly as it started, the most severe of the pain stopped and Sam opened his eyes, trying to move his legs. A groping hand reached out for support.

"Dean."

"Right here, Sammy."

"'kay."

"Just stay down for a few minutes."

"Think I'm okay now."

"You were never okay."

"Funny."

Sam tried to sit up.

"Go slow, please," Dean said as he pushed the bigger man into an upright position.

In the distance, a few watchers had begun to gather. Sam noticed them first.

"We should go. Gawkers. And I really don't feel like any interrogations."

Dean helped him stand and settle into the front seat. He smacked the hamburger back into his hands. "You're gonna eat that. Cracking walls, exploding brain cells or not, you need to eat."

The Impala started readily and Dean kicked her into gear, but carefully enough to not garner any additional attention. When he looked over at Sam, he saw him leaning against the car door. Hamburger rejected once again and this time lying on the floor mat. Dean reached over and checked Sam's pulse and breathing. Both normal.

Exhaustion again.

Maybe he'd been wrong about moving him out of the last town so quickly after being slammed with a second glimpse of Hell. They probably could have stayed hidden in the motel room another day while Sam dealt with the emotional stress. It would have been a better, safer choice.

Dean then made his decision. "Okay, Sleeping Beauty, a motel it is."

Again the older-smaller brother had to drag the younger-mutant-sized one from one place to another. It was dark now, so he attracted no watching eyes. Once Sam was in, Dean pulled him into the bed furthest from the door, popped his shoes off, tossed a blanket over him and let him fall into what he hoped was a land filled with lollipops and candy canes rather than fire and Hell.

They were fortunate. Sam slept a peaceful night.

Dean however was showing red-rimmed eyes and a sagged face the next morning. Keeping watch over your brother to make sure his mind didn't fall back into Hell wasn't easy and didn't lend itself to much sleep. But as it had been since they were kids, looking after Sam was his responsibility. It's just that problems were much simpler back then. Since he'd pulled Sam away from college, a whole new set of personalized monster-sized problems had come about.

"You look like hell."

Seeing waking eyes peering across the room, Dean frowned. "And good morning to you too, Sunshine."

As Sam ran a hand through his long hair and pulled himself off the bed, Dean observed.

"Feelin' okay? How's the head?"

"Good. Normal. Let's not talk about it, all right?"

"Fine. You're normal again – whatever your definition of normal is. We're home for a few days and now that you are upright and vertical again, I am going to bed. I'm getting too old for these all-nighters."

Sam curled one side of his mouth into a knowing smile, appreciating his brother's sacrifice.

When Dean woke from his nap, he found Sam half asleep at the tiny kitchen table, one hand holding his chin up while the other punched aimlessly at keys on the computer.

"Sammy, wake up!"

Immediately, Sam shot upright. "What the hell, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Sorry, had to. You sure you're okay? Been doing a lot of sleeping."

"Well from what you tell me, when I was soulless I didn't sleep at all. Maybe it's all catching up with me."

"Huh. Maybe."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Sure you are. Find anything hunt-worthy online?"

"Nothin'. I called Bobby. He's got nothin'."

"Good. We need the rest. You want lunch?"

Sam reached down and pulled a brown paper bag off the floor and tossed it across the room. Dean stuffed his nose into the bag and inhaled deeply. "Nice!" He picked the two sandwiches out and was about to throw one back to Sam, when he noticed that now familiar faraway look in his younger brother's eyes. "Sam? SAM?"

Snapping out of the daze, Sam blinked rapidly, trying to curtail the oncoming headache. "Sorry. Just tired. I zone out every once in a while. I'm okay."

"Ya think? Eat your sandwich and then lie down."

"Yeah," Sam said, looking a little unsure. "Yeah, maybe I should."

He ate the meal, sipped on his drink and then wandered to his bed where he ungracefully flopped down onto his stomach. Sleep came in seconds. Dean walked over and the pulled the blanket over him and stood watching for a long moment, worried.

"_Okay_, my ass."

"Dean, I don't have a 'Recovering from Soullessness' handbook. We just have to take Sam for what he is right now and hope this is all just exhaustion."

"It makes sense that it is, Bobby, but…I don't know. I keep looking for things to be normal again and, I guess I'm expecting too much."

"Boy, things haven't been normal for either if you since you were five."

"You know what I mean."

"I know, but that doesn't change things. Sam went through and to Hell as the devil himself. Whatever memories are there, wall or not, have to be eating at him. Forget normal for now. Just deal with what you've got. You weren't exactly Mr. Normal when you got back from your tour in Hell, ya know."

Dean sighed and remembered. And he knew Bobby was right again.

"Listen, Dean. You hate seeing him hurt. I get that. But you knew the consequences when you made the deal with Death to put Sam's soul back in place. _You_ made the call. _You _have to follow it through."

"You've got a knack for shoving it all back in my face, Bobby, you know that?"

"Someone has to. Just lookout for your brother and call me tomorrow."

When Dean put his phone down, Sam was awake and starring at him. "That Bobby again?"

"Yeah, he's my sounding board while you float around on your white puffy clouds in the town of Sleepyville."

"Let me guess, he doesn't have a 'Recovering from Soullessness' handbook?"

"How did, ah…no."

"Well," Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and moved into the kitchenette to grab a glass of water, "Other than this headache, I feel fine."

"Sure you do. Oh and you mean the headache that's causing your face to cringe whenever you take a step? Right. Perfectly fine. We're staying put for a few days. At least until you cease with the narcolepsy routine and the headaches calm down to normal levels."

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Kentucky."

"Maybe there's a job."

"I can only hope. Might keep you awake. Obviously my stellar company isn't up to that task at the moment."

"It's not you, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Sitting at the table, Sam opened his laptop and pulled up their location. Louisville, Kentucky. Then he found the local online newspaper. Big town, easy to blend in, nothing exciting making the headlines recently. Good. Nice and boring, just what they needed.

They spent that next day resting and touring the town. Dean kept an eye out for any signs of Sam slipping into a flashback or violent memory. He also watched for him to fall over dead-asleep at any moment. Sam survived the day.

"Congratulations, Sammy. Eight hours and you haven't fallen asleep once," Dean said as they sat on a park bench. Sam didn't answer though. He was suddenly lost again, starring into nothing. Dean allowed it for a few minutes to see if he'd snap himself aware, but when he didn't, Dean butted against him with his shoulder. "Hey!"

Hazel-green eyes refocused and Sam sucked in a deep exasperated breath. "Dean…" There was a pause as a group of kids walked by them on the sidewalk, then "I feel like…like I'm losing control."

"Control of what?"

"Me. I mean, I guess I don't know how else to explain it. I have no control over these episodes I'm having. I can hear things – you – in the background, but they don't really register until you force me out of it. And…the headache. And then I'm so tired I can't keep my head upright. I don't know, it's not Hell that I see. It's not…anything."

"I think you just need more sleep, Sam. For some reason, all those missed months of the stuff, it's all smacking you at once."

"Maybe. I don't know. Feels different."

"Different how?"

"Just…different."

"Oh, that's comforting. How about I not let you wander around by yourself for a while. And stay outta the driver's side of the Impala. Last thing I need is you taking my baby out for an errand and crashing into the ocean or something."

"Dean, we're in Kentucky."

"Well, you might crash into a horse then. You know what I mean, damn it. Just…don't go wandering off."

"Maybe you should buy me a leash."

"Don't tempt me. They have those for kids. They might have one in Sasquatch size."

Sam didn't find the humor in his brother's teasing, but he couldn't argue with the logic behind it. Driving was not an option. Wandering off alone wasn't either. Right now, several minutes after the zone-out, he was feeling that he just wanted to rest. "Can we just go back to the hotel please?"

"Yeah, before you fall over. I see it now. You crap out into zombie land first then you go all Rip Van Winkle. Whatever it is, it's following a pattern. This is good. Patterns are good. I think. Come on, let's go."

They walked to the car. Sam was out like a light before the engine started.

"Yup, a definite pattern," Dean said to himself

"Find the handbook yet, Bobby?" Dean asked as he contemplated his again-sleeping brother from their motel room's kitchenette table.

"No change, huh?"

"No, but there's a pattern. Right before he crashes, he craps out into La La Land. He says it's not Hell he's seeing though."

"Then what?"

"Dunno. Supposedly nothing. At least that's what he says. And he's conscious to sounds nearby, but gets fixated on something he can't see and can't figure out how to break out of on his own. It's friggin' weird, man."

"At least it's not Hell."

"Bobby, we can't do this. I have no idea when he's gonna pop into his little mind vacations. It just happens whenever and wherever. I can't let him wander off and I sure as hell can't let him drive. What am I supposed to do?"

"I wish I knew, boy."

"I'll just…" Dean lowered his voice to a whisper. "Oh wait, gotta go. Sleeping Beauty awakens." He felt Sam's eyes on him. "Sammy! Welcome back. Again. How's the headache? Need drugs?"

"How's Bobby? Still no ideas?"

"Damn it, do you hear everything when you sleep?"

"You have a big mouth, Dean."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Maybe we should get you into a doctor."

Sam sat up. "Sure, that'll look good. So, Doc, ya see, I became the Devil – yes THE Devil - for a time after I gulped down gallons of demon blood, then the Devil and I, we jumped into Hell, then I came back without a soul until my brother made a deal with the Horsemen Death to get that soul back. Now, I'm zoning out and sleeping all the time and want to know if it's related to my extended vacation with my buddy Lucifer, the year and a half I can't remember about Hell and hanging out with my previously dead grandfather, roaming the country as an emotionless robotic version of myself and engaging in who knows what type of immorally borderline activities. Think my problems might be related to that at all, Doc? Huh?"

Snorting once, Dean made a clicking sound with his mouth as he got up from the table and placed his beer bottle in the trash. "When you put it that way, okay. But something is going on here, Sam. And if it's not Hell causing it, what is?"

"I wish I knew. The only thing I'm absolutely sure of…is that I don't like feeling this way."

Dean leaned against the kitchenette wall and released a slow deep breath as he worried for his brother.

"I know you don't Sammy. We - we'll figure it out. For now, we've got no choice but to just ride the tide and see where it takes us."

As Sam nodded, he slipped his shoes on and began loading his backpack.

"You goin' somewhere?"

"To find a job. We need something, Dean. Maybe if I get focused on something, it'll help. Maybe my mind is getting too much time to think on its own and dragging me in whatever direction it wants to go. We should be working anyway."

"Heh, maybe you're right," Dean replied as he walked to his bed and grabbed his own pack.

Once in the car, Sam rubbed at his eyes then rolled down his window. The Autumn air was crisp and the warming sun felt good on the side of his face. He closed his eyes briefly until the driver's side door purposely slammed shut, and they shot open again.

"I wasn't zoning out, Dean."

"Didn't say you were."

"Oh and I guess the door just slammed itself then?"

"You know my baby has a mind of her own sometimes."

Sam shook his head and half-laughed under his breath. "Well, she _was_ possessed for a short time."

Dean leaned towards his brother and held a hand up. "Do NOT bring that up! It wasn't her fault she slammed herself into that storefront. It was the only way I could get her back without shooting her, damn it!"

"A bit touchy, aren't we?"

"You know, Sam, it's been a very, _very_ long year and a half."

Hearing the shadowed exhaustion in Dean's words, Sam gave up the brief teasing about the car and nodded a truce.

"So, where to?"

"How about New York? A population of four bazillion, there's bound to be something supernaturally nasty going on somewhere in that state at any given time."

"Sounds good. Want me to drive?"

"Not on my watch, Narco."

A quick glance at Dean, and Sam turned his face back to the sun of the open window. He smiled to himself and squinted into the warmth. "That's okay then. I'll just enjoy the sun and the breeze, get some shut eye and let you do all the heavy lifting. Wake me when we reach New York."

Dean titled his head sideways to offer an evil glare then he started the Impala.

"Bitch."

A smirked scowl to the right.

"Jerk."

A deliberate grin to the left.

Sam settled against the door to rest as Dean's attention went to the road ahead. His thoughts though, were for Sam and the frustration of what his brother was going through as he ventured into Hell-bent screwball lands of zombies and narcolepsy and topped with an unhealthy dose of migraine headaches.

In the end however, it was all worth it to Dean.

Sam was alive, and Sam was Sam again.

Even if there wasn't a handbook for them to lean on, Dean would take the crap load of crazy that Sam had brought with him…as long as he had his brother…his _entire_ brother…back in that passenger seat where he belonged.

* * *

The end.


End file.
